tion and suffering that excited my special wonder. The sweet worn face always greeted her visitors with a smile; and to sit in her bright little room, and hear her talk, or even to watch her, seemed to do one good. It always made me think of "the peace that passeth understanding."

With girlish curiosity I often longed to know the story of her life, which I felt sure had been a sad one; and one sunny summer afternoon she told it to me. I had been saying how I wished she could see the woods and fields in that lovely weather, and asked if she did not get dreadfully tired of lying day after day in the same place. Directly I had said it I repented, for I feared she would be pained by my thoughtless speech; but she smiled as she replied,

"I do get a little tired sometimes; but I could hardly complain of what I myself asked for, could I?"

"What do you mean ?" I cried. asked for a terrible trial like this?"

"You never could have

"Shall I tell you how it was ?" she asked; and when, eagerly assenting, I sat down in a low chair by her couch, Miss Mervyn spoke as follows:

"I was about seventeen years old when the religious impressions which I had been brought up with suddenly deepened and became strong. A sermon I heard about that time, and the earnest talk of a Christian minister, gave me new thoughts of the importance of a religious life, and of the obligations owed by Christians to their Lord. 'Ye are bought with a price,' was the text that so firmly fixed itself in my mind, that I seemed to hear it always ringing in my ears. And now, having given myself to God, I yearned to work for Him. I had for several years taught in the Sunday-school. There were in our little sea-side village plenty of poor people, whom I had always loved to visit. Moreover, in our quiet home life there were numerous daily duties to be performed. But these I thought | always done. This

were trifles; these were what I had common routine of my daily life did not satisfy my new enthusiasm. If only I could go out to some distant land,

and take God's message to the heathen, or become a Biblewoman in some of the most degraded parts of London! Cheerfully would I give up home ease, and home comforts and pleasures, to spend my life for Him who gave His for me. No sacrifice, I said to myself, would be too hard, no self-denial too severe.

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But what could I do? Certainly at present I saw no opening for any change in my life, and I remember a good old sailor, to whom I could not help telling some of my longings, saying, 'Wait and see, miss. If the Master has need of you, He will let you know. And there's plenty to

do while you're waiting.'

“But I did not want to wait; and I did not feel that I had plenty to do.' Little every-day duties were not worthy to be classed with the work I meant to perform-the great things I would undertake to show my love to my Saviour.

"I was a particularly strong, active girl in those days, and had never known a day's illness, and I suppose my mind partook of the energy of my body, for the others used to say, 'When Kate takes a thing into her head she will not rest till it is done.' 'Too impetuous,' some said. Ah! they did not say it for long! It was just such a day as this, a sunny June day, that I am now going to describe to you. Every detail of it, from its bright beginning to its dark close, is as present to me now as if it had been yesterday. I woke early, and, when dressed, I sat by the open window, my Bible on my knee, and a wide stretch of sunlit waves before me. My mind was, as usual, filled with the subject that had so taken possession of it. When a white sail came in view, I wished that it was bearing me to some far-off shore where I might indeed feel that I was a worker in Christ's vineyard. When I looked down and read the words, 'Sell all that thou hast, and come, follow Me,' I wished that our Saviour were now on earth, addressing such words to me, that I might show Him how gladly I would give up all for His sake. 'I see no way for doing

this,' I thought to myself; 'but God can open a way, and I will ask Him.'

"So I presently knelt down, and prayed very earnestly, and my prayer was for a different and a wider sphere of usefulness; not that my present humble attempts might be blessed and made fruitful by Him who can and will bless the smallest efforts made in His name—that would have

been the wiser prayer. But I asked for what I called a higher and nobler place among Christian workers, and I rose from my knees with hope in my heart, and went downstairs, where the family was assembled.

"I remember tossing my baby brother in the air. I remember my father's joking remark, ‘I believe you are as strong as I am, Katie!' I can see my mother's quiet, satisfied glance at me. I can hear my brothers' words as they planned a long walk on the beach, 'Of course, Kate can go with us. Nothing tires Kate.' I hardly noticed these things at the time, but they all came back to me afterwards. for it was the last time I ever heard such remarks again from any one.

"That afternoon I set off to see a poor woman, who lived several miles away. I was to go by the cliff, and my brothers agreed to come and meet me on the beach. I felt very happy as I walked briskly along. Perhaps some day, I thought, my health and strength will be of some real use. I have asked for fresh opportunities, and I think my prayer will be answered. I was right. The answer came. I sat awhile with the poor woman, then set off homewards.

"The sun was shining, the sea sparkling and dashing up little showers of spray over the rocks below me. The sky was blue and peaceful. A white gull soared over my head. I turned to watch it, treading a few inches too near the treacherous edge of the cliff. One false step, one careless movement, a piece of the cliff gave way, and I had fallen ! The sun still shone, the waves still danced and rippled, the gull flew slowly on unheeding, but in that moment of time all my life was changed. At first there was an unconscious

blank, and I might have lain among the rocks until the tide had washed away all trace of my presence, if my brothers, coming to meet me, had not found my senseless body, and conveyed it home.

"I came to myself in the evening, and the first fears that I should die were dissipated. I remember the wonder at finding myself in bed, the grave face of the doctor, the forced cheerfulness of the rest. I felt weak, but not ill until I moved, when a sharp pain in my back made me cry out, and I fainted. But I got better, or seemed to get better; doctors came and went, and spoke hopefully, and I began to talk of getting up, when, about three weeks after my accident, there was a consultation, and I found a London doctor had been sent for. After it was over my dear mother came in alone to see me. Her sad face and the tears in her eyes told me that something serious was coming; yet when I heard that my recovery was hopeless, that although I might live many years, the injury to the spine could never be cured, and that I should never stand or walk again, a horrible darkness seemed to come over me. I did not move or speak; and when my mother, kissing me tenderly, left the room, I turned my face to the wall, and lay for hours stunned by the sentence (worse than death, I thought) that had been passed upon me.

"As by degrees the idea became more familiar, and the first shock passed away, another grief struck me to the heart, as bitter as the first. Had God forgotten me? Had I not asked for an answer to my prayer? Had I not begged for a more useful life? Was it in punishment, in mockery of my request, that I had been struck down, and made a mere useless burden for the rest of my life? Or was it true, after all, as some maintain, that there is no such thing as answers to prayer, that all belief in it is a delusion? I lay and tormented myself night and day with these questions. They prevented my praying, or reading my Bible; they were like a thick cloud between me and my God.

"I remained in this state for some weeks, and what made

it worse was that no one guessed my feelings. I had kept my longings to myself, and so no one knew of my bitter disappointment. But God knew. My merciful Father had not forgotten me, and He sent a messenger of comfort in His good time. A friend to whom I shall ever feel grateful came to stay with me, and to her, before many days had passed, I told all my troubles. I ended my story by saying, 'I do remember now that I neglected many duties that I called too small and trifling to signify. I feel that I was wrong, and deserved punishment. But oh, Alice, doesn't it seem rather a hard one ?'

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"I do not call your trial a punishment at all,' replied my friend. 'Those whom God loves, He chastens.'

"Yes,' I said, "but this is not like a common trial, it takes away all my power of usefulness, and it will last all my life;' and I sighed hopelessly.

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Katie, dear,' said my friend, very tenderly, 'did you not tell me just now that you were willing to give up everything for Christ?'

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And so I would,' I began eagerly; but she stopped me. "Except your health, Kate?' she asked.

"I made no answer to this, and she continued,

"Does it not seem, dear, that you were willing to give up everything except your own will-the very thing that is first of all required of us? You wanted to serve God, but it must be in your own way—not in His. You gladly offered yourself as a worker in His vineyard, but you wished to choose your own part of it.'

"And now I am punished,' I said again.

"No,' returned Alice. I do not see why you should call the answer to your own prayer a punishment, even if it is painful.'

"Alice!' I exclaimed, starting up till the pain forced me to lie down again, 'you cannot call this an answer to prayer! Why, it is the very opposite to what I asked for.'

"And what was that?'